


I Like That You're Broken...

by Lacklusterswirl



Series: Tumblr Oneshots [2]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Missions, Missions Gone Wrong, not a lot of comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacklusterswirl/pseuds/Lacklusterswirl
Summary: ...Broken like me. Maybe that makes me a fool.Another collection of my works posted on tumblr and not here, lol. Well, here they are, still non-edited, but I think they're pretty well off, all things considered. Each story has its own warnings and author notes. Most of these fics are sad though, so here's the overall warning.





	I Like That You're Broken...

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, please check out the warnings before each story. Otherwise, hope I get your heart to ache, even a little, by the end :)  
Also, these numbers relate to what I have them saved as, and you'll see the mistakes I made in regards to that too...

**(Warnings: Implied Suicide, Mentions drug use/addiction, mutual pinning, self deprecation/hatred)**

**10 Leave a Light On**

A/N: This one was a request where the anon left me a song and a ship, so this is what it was. The song was Leave a Light On by Tom Walker, and I can happily say it’s been added to my sad songs playlist, yay!

The most troubling thing about the sentence was the fact that it brought to light a series of facts that had been previously ignored or unnoticed by Jäger.

One. Bandit was a user. Maybe not by his own volition, but he was at the very least an ex user nonetheless. His time undercover was not a breeze - no one expected it to be, but he made it. And since then, Jäger could only assume that he hadn’t touched anything since. But the fact that he once used was cause for concern.

Two. The outbursts from that week made sense. No, Bandit wasn’t evolving into a bigger asshole. He was struggling with something. Something invisible to every one of Jäger’s senses except that one tugged at his stomach. And that was the one he ignored. Bandit was sneaky, cunning, able to use anything to his advantage, yet he was not in control of whatever this was.

Three. The phone calls from that evening. They were ignored in favour of the meeting between Jäger and a co-worker, and the only time he called back, Bandit didn’t answer. While Jäger brushed it off as something unimportant, or even a prank, it was made very clear to him now that whatever it was... was life changing. _And goddamn it!_ If only he could’ve turned back time, if only he had picked up the phone, and if only he could talk him down from whatever it was...

If only...

Four. He still had some feelings leftover from 2006. Four years or so later, and he still remembered – remembers – the laughter, the teasing, the feeling of joy that came from being around Bandit. He was always ready to adapt, and it led to many spontaneous outings. What he loved most about him and what Bandit’s abilities relied on, in the end, destroyed him. He adapted too well. Took on the feelings and emotions required of him to the point where Jäger no longer saw him as the same person. To the point where Bandit doesn’t seem to remember who he was.

Five. No matter what he said, how he acted, or what he did to Jäger, Bandit still had leftover feelings for him too. It was never spoken out loud. Just through the smallest actions only someone who really knew him would notice. And Jäger really knew him it seemed. When he got angry, which seemed like every moment Jäger was with him nowadays, he always had this small section on the inside of his cheek he liked to chew and lick. The action itself was unnoticeable, but the pause before he started speaking generally gave away his actions prior. And beyond just the angry little habits, there were the soft touches. When Jäger wasn’t paying attention to the road, and nearly walked into a pole, Bandit’s arm was there, tugging him to the side. The hold was always firm, yet never failed to soften into a small massage, as if he was scared that he pulled too hard. He used to do that a lot to Jäger, and in their first outing together afterwards, it happened again. Except it was followed by a forced frown and a rough push forward to get them walking again.

_“He was nice. Just had other priorities, you know?”_

_Bandit had brought it up. What was all the talk about Jäger’s new relationship? Who was he? When did they meet? What did he like about him? Why was he worth all the uncertainty?_

_“His daughter’s adorable. Clever too. I’d like a kid like that one day.”_

_Bandit was nodding along, not saying a word between questions when suddenly, his hand wrapped around Jäger’s and pulled him away. There was an awkward shuffle as Jäger nearly collided with Bandit, instead getting held up against the other man. It was weirdly reminiscent. Both of them felt it too. They had to. “Watch where you’re going.”_

_Just like that, the moment was over, and Jäger was pushed forward. “For what it’s worth,” he started, trying to see if he could get Bandit to admit that he felt it too, “he was always just a little too distracted. He had a child, a job, and a million other things, and I could never be a priority for him. I miss when you would kiss me like I was the only one who existed in this world.”_

_That did the trick. Bandit pulled him into a dark alley and kissed him drunk before pulling away. The rest of the night only got better too._

And then he ignored Jäger until tonight. But because of annoyance, frustration, and a little bit of vindication, Jäger let all the calls go to voicemail. See, he could ignore his presence too, if he wanted. But damn did he choose the wrong night to do so.

“You should go see Dom…” The most recent call was uncertain. “He’s been stuck in his apartment all day, and no one’s seen him since mission debrief yesterday.”

Jäger was torn between the fear coursing through his veins, and the feeling of trouble that was no doubt going through Bandit’s. Just out of pure desperation, Jäger called Bandit again, now just a few minutes away from the apartment. The fifth unanswered call had Jäger’s mind sparking in all different directions, and all he could do was hope and pray.

_Don’t let go. Not yet._

He still had the spare key. That, he never returned. Always meant to, and always forgot. The entire apartment was pitch black, and silent. He reached for the light, but froze when he heard a shuffling come from the bedroom. Instead of the light switch, he reached for the emergency flashlight.

“Dom?”

No answer. Then arms from out of nowhere wrapped around his chest and squeezed him tight. It took all of Jäger’s reflexes not to hit the person, but instead identify them as Dom.

“I need you so badly it hurts.”

“What have you been doing?” It was hard not to sound angry. But the rush of emotions was enough for Jäger to pull away and examine the tired body in front of him.

What was said seemed to be true. Bandit was still in the same clothes from yesterday, and looked like he hadn’t eaten since then. There was a ragged rhythm to his breathing, and his hands gripped Jäger’s shoulders like he was afraid that this was all a dream.

“Why have you been hiding like this?” He tried again to get Bandit to talk. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I might not, but you will. And I can try.”

Bandit chuckled into Jäger’s neck, causing soft tingles to travel up and down his body from the warm breath. “I didn’t think I would be that lonely. But when I left you, I didn’t realize that it would hurt so much. And then I came back and heard of another man, and… and what was I supposed to do? I wish I meant something more to you, and I’m sorry if I’m ruining your current relationship – I am – but I want you for myself.”

As predicted, Jäger wasn’t understanding some part of this. “But you kissed me last—”

“I know. I shouldn’t have. It was selfish, it was self-indulgent, I was projecting, I…”

“Stop. Dom.” Just like that, the arms and the man himself shuffled into the darkness. “Are you high? Did you use anything?”

A bitter scoff. “No.” It was pathetic. A voice crack rendered the answer weak, so Bandit followed it up with “I haven’t touched that shit since I came back. I promise.”

“Good.” And it really is. Jäger now chooses to wrap his arms around the other and secretly vows to hug tight enough so that one day, these trembles will stop again. “It’s ok to hide and all, but don’t ignore me like that again. I want to help if I can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

Shaky hands reach out and grab fistfuls of Jäger’s shirt. “I want you to kiss me like before I left. I know things change, but I wish we didn’t.”

“Dom—”

“Please.”

Jäger remembers how to make him tremble from pleasure instead of fear. He remembers how to make him moan like it’s his first time. He remembers everything that Bandit likes. But something wasn’t right.

“Marius, please. I promise I only need one night, and then I’ll let you go back to him.”

“You idiot.” He started off too harsh. Bandit’s hold falters, and threatens to drop completely had it not been for Jäger’s arms around him only getting tighter. “You haven’t even listened to me all this time, have you? He’s gone. Out of my life. I didn’t want to ruin his family, and he had to put his daughter’s needs over his own life.”

Bandit froze on the bed, then sighed in relief. “Stay with me then. Please. I can’t stop thinking about all my mistakes.”

Jäger lets himself get pulled onto his side, still holding onto Bandit who has calmed down a little. “Should I turn off the—”

“Leave the light on.”

**(Warnings: pining? Uncertain feelings about love)**

**11 How the Mighty Fall**

A/N: Whoever the anon was that requested this, you have my love forever for requesting FOB. Omg, I enjoyed this, even if I’m not really a big shipper person.

Oh, how the mighty fall.

At least that’s how it felt. Kapkan was sitting in the forest during one of the heaviest downpours he’s seen since arriving at Hereford. He didn’t even choose to be out here. Just needed to be away from… there… and this was just the fastest way to create distance.

But there… there was a pair of bright blue eyes, ready to accept him in any way possible. There was a seat next to the easel, offering an unlimited amount of peace and quiet. There was a man who had put words to a feeling he had tried to deny for so long now. And there was the issue. He didn’t think he could deny it for much longer.

Ask Kapkan a year ago, and he would’ve said that love a scheme dreamed up by some fool who wanted the world to burn in heartbreak. But here he was, dizzy on the dream nonetheless. So, even when he’s staring at the inside of his eyelid, Kapkan can’t stop seeing Glaz. Can’t stop seeing the man shooting that sniper rifle, sitting and painting, completely relaxed, and… He’s ashamed to admit it, but he can’t stop seeing Glaz, bottom up on his bed, face pushed down into the mattress and panting out Kapkan’s name with the tongue that had long gone limp and the lips that couldn’t stop leaking drool. He can still see his own fist in his hair, curing in the dark locks just to pull his head up and admire just how lost he looked while waiting for Kapkan to deliver him to his personal end.

“Kapkan.” He didn’t want to look at who was calling his name, but when he stopped feeling the rain on his arms, he had to look up, and saw that Glaz was standing there, holding an umbrella over his head. “You should come back inside. If you stay here, you risk getting a cold, and Doc’s still annoyed at you from last time.”

“I’ll be fine. This just helps clear my head.”

“You know what helps clear mine?” comes a teasing question. And Kapkan can’t help but look up into those blue eyes with the crinkles on the edges, the mouth with the scar just above the upper lip, and the ragged looking scarf that he always insisted that he keep on just because it was a gift from his mother.

And the question… He can guess what Glaz is asking for, but… he’s unsure as to whether or not he can actually…

“Painting?”

Glaz rolled his eyes and reached out to forcefully tug Kapkan to his feet. “Whatever. I’ll show you in the showers.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Fun fact, Tachanka just said that I was acting like I had a few screws loose, you know?” Kapkan was a little too focused on not slipping on mud to actually look up at Glaz. “And I almost said back that instead of missing a few screws, I was just missing you.”

“Glaz.”

“Kapkan, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong? Do you want more sex? Want me to scream louder? Ignore you more outside of your bedroom? I… I don’t think I can…”

Well. For some reason, being part of a ‘two’ has always been lonelier than just being a ‘one.’ When you’re by yourself, you can just rely on one person, and joy becomes so much easier to find… right? But with Glaz. He’s so scared that he’s going to do something that pushes him away, and he doesn’t think he can take into account two people’s feelings as opposed to just his own. Stretching himself thin was not going to help here.

“I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t have a single clue as to why you want to try with me.”

“Because you care.”

“No, I—”

“Yes, you do. Look at you, driving yourself insane by worrying about _me._ You know what to do, and if you don’t, that’s why I want to be your number two. I want to help.”

Those words were so honeyed that Kapkan wants to believe him. Almost does. And yet, he can’t help but want to push away his doubting thoughts and just go along with what Glaz wanted. If the day came that he wished he left their love in the gutter where they found it, then so be it. He would learn for the next time.

“Alright then. If you want, I’ll try.”

Oh, how the mighty fall.

How the mighty fall in love.

**(Warnings: implied death, major character death (maybe), missions, gunfights, injuries)**

**12 The End**

A/N: It’s about Thatcher near his (maybe) end, and how he comes to terms with it. It’s based on Me, Myself and I by Vinyl Theatre, and It’s Alright by Mother Mother. It’s nothing really graphic, but it has an ambiguous end, so you can save yourself the heartache if you want :P

The world has a funny way of telling you when to quit.

Really now, it tries everything to tell you it’s enough. The creaking bones, the aching muscles, the dull ache that never goes away. Yet, all Thatcher can see right now is himself in fading lights – surrounded, and only getting closer to the end of his line. Whether that’s in the next ten seconds or ten years will be left up to him. Or maybe not. Fate always like to show its stupid head at the worst of times.

It’s been a me, myself, and I road that he’s taken, and this seems to be where it ends: on his last magazine and with a bullet would on his leg – lonely and lost in pain.

And it’s alright.

He’s had many nights and days that all led up to now. He’s had his fair share of stupid things, manic decisions, and insane choices. It’ll just take one bullet to show him exactly why the world is the way it is right now. One bullet to either defeat the monsters here, or face the monsters in his head. And that’s ok.

It’s alright. He’s not one of them. He’s human and he’s made mistakes. It’s not gruesome, it’s just going to be ok.

They called _him _demon. Those White Masks. But, if that was the nickname he was given by the terrorists, then so be it. He’s a demon with reason, and he has a reason to stay.

So, he’ll stay. Fighting if needed.

It’s down to Thatcher and one other man now. They see each other, know where the other is, stare with their hands tightening around their respective weapons.

Two gunshots: one pinging off a box, and the other tasting air, muscle, bone, muscle, air and then the wall behind.

One of them falls.

**(Warnings: sad feelings, mentioned car crash…??)**

**13 We All Hurt**

A/N: Lion got into a fight with Thatcher in cannon, so that’s what this was based off of. It’s more apologetic to a friend of mine who loves Lion and didn’t like this other one shot I wrote basically for her where Lion seemed more like an ass. Well, not didn’t like, thought that I was being unfair. So here this came to be – one where he tries his best, but still gets insulted for trying and hurting. You, the reader, are put in as someone he once lost though, and he reflects a bit on that.

Punks don’t dance.

Or laugh, or smile, or dream, or… love… right?

Do you still count as something you haven’t been in years? Lion’s hand stills over the guitar. In his youth, he took on that title with a pride and misguided motivation and, no he was never a ‘proper’ punk he supposed. He was more of just an asshole looking for justification rather than someone rebelling against authority, even if he did go against the rules set out for him.

And then… And then Thatcher called him just that. A punk. Something Lion doesn’t remember being called ever since he got into that bender which nearly took his life. At that time, he was called victim, addict, lost. But not punk. And he _had_ changed. Sure, he still listened to the rock and metal bands he remembers headbanging to, but now, if you were to watch him enjoy his music, he looked like he was nodding along to a piano concerto.

So, was this the right choice? It was certainly a promotion. And yes, it meant more danger, more risk, higher chance of dying, but it was a promotion. He was considered elite. To get here, it took work, right? Lots of work, practice, and… and losing people.

You were one of those he let go of. You used to sit beside him in the canteen and debate over the roles of fate in life – _if_ there were such roles. You used to get him little gifts and souvenirs from the missions you went on, he used to do the same for you. At times, it felt like you were _just_ on the cusp of getting him to open up to you. You never broke through completely. Not to you at least. To him, you were already enough.

Sometimes, he wonders if he should’ve asked Harry to change his callsign. It was, after all, you who first called him that. And he still has that little lion charm attached to his bag from West Africa, 2015.

Doc wasn’t the only one who lost colleagues. _He_ lost them too. He lost you. Seeing you dying, not in a blaze of glory like you joked about, not in a merciful way, not the way either of you wanted, but with him holding onto your hand, and you begging him to evacuate the area. That it was lost. It was what protocol stated, and you confirmed it. You, who were the last barrier stopping him from making the call. You were dying, and nothing he did could prevent it. He made the ultimate choice, packed everyone up and dropped the defences. And yes, many lives were lost, but you were the only one whose face haunted him for years to come.

Yeah. So maybe he wasn’t empathetic enough to those who stood a chance, but to risk everything – everyone – for a few… It didn’t make sense. And he’ll stand by that. But he tried. He lost just as must as others did, and it wasn’t fair that he was cast aside as such because he made the right call and suffered just as everyone else could. Everyone has someone they wished hadn’t died, but by diminishing the empathy and sympathy he _did _fell, they were turning him into a monster he refused to be – that he wasn’t! It was crazy, and demeaning, and… and… it hurt. Because he hurt too.

Sometimes, when people don’t see, when people ignore him, when people dismiss him, he thinks back to you.

His hands would brush over the old wooden lion charm that you promised would keep him safe – that he laughed at. Except it had. Only for him.

Sometimes he wished he died with you.

Sometimes he wished he never made the call. Trust in Kateb for just a little longer.

Would things have changed?

“Here’s the ice pack you wanted.” Montagne walked in on him, like a father he never had or asked for.

“Thank you.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t provoke others this often.”

_I only fight back when they say that I don’t hurt as much as them though._

“Ok. I’ll try.”

**(Warnings: Mentions death and a hostage situation)**

**14 Clash’s Anger**

A/N: Clash is an angry op, I’m sure we can all agree, just listen to her in game :p. Still, this was a piece that highlighted her angry parts and justifications for it in a sense.

Blanket anger is what she used to call it. An uncontrolled wave of rage and indignation against those who oppressed. It brought attention to her, granted those who suffered in silence, a voice that could lead them through the injustices of their system. Except that she remembers when the anger was directed at the wrong people.

Tray never wanted to hurt the bystanders. Clash was always ready to make sacrifices. But that one time, where they ran off to save the family convenience store that was struggling to make a large enough profit to sent their eldest child to university and afford lunches for the youngest… That was all she needed. She had seen enough.

Enough of what, she still had to convince her fellow officers. Not enough of police, but not enough of anger either. They both had their place.

No. What didn’t have a place in her country – _her world – _was the mindless death of people who try to help. People like Tray who ended up in a pool of their own blood, skin decorated with shards of glass, and a glazed look that didn’t accurately portray the intelligence of the person behind them. People like the classroom of children still stuck inside the building after being taken hostage by the White Masks.

Perhaps, it was time for blanket anger once more. There were no innocent bystanders there. Just victims and perpetrators.

Clash got her shield ready and led the charge.

**(Warnings: Sad, confused feelings, no real plot. Just self wondering stuff?)**

**14: Maverick’s Bday!**

A/N: Despite the happy name, it was not a happy fic. Maverick stepped outside his own party to have a little chat with ??? Who knows… But this was written when I had similar feelings about what I should call home and whatnot. Also I just realized this now, but both this and Clash are labelled as 14… oops on my part…

“There was a girl with the universe in her eyes. And she was chasing after a dream that left her too fast. When I look at her now, I can see lines where there used to be none, and after days turned into years, she can only scream.”

He’s speaking to no one really. Well, maybe a stray animal, but that was it.

“You see everything, don’t you?”

Does he believe in god? Is there someone he wants to hear his message?

“If you do, sing me a symphony. Because I’m here, and my mind is on the job – I’ll never let it falter – but my heart is somewhere between here and there.”

He’s not even sitting. Most people who come out to the roof at this time in the night come out to sit, and let their feet dangle. A reminder of mortality, of life, and of choices. This is not one of those escapes. He’s demanding answers. And he wants them, despite the nervousness with which he plays with the outline of his tattoo on his arm, despite the tense shoulders that could be seen through the heavy sweater, and despite the nervous gulps that sounded like alarms in the dead silence of night.

“Please. I dream of a city of angels, and… and it feels so familiar, but I can’t… I can’t forget. The people I remember are lost, but I can’t forget. Actually, I guess I don’t want to forget either, but I can hear them still. So help me, please.”

And he waits. He pauses and nods his head like he can hear the response. “Their hearts are in their dreams, but my dream is in my heart. I’m not scared of heights, but falling from grace terrifies me. I just want to know that I’ll be ok.”

And the stars have no answers. At least nothing he doesn’t already know.

“Yeah. Thought so. Happy birthday to me.”

And then he leaves.

**(Warnings: None? Unresolved ending but I like to think that it’s resolved…)**

**15 Unwanted Help**

A/N: I know in cannon, Dokk and Vigil don’t get along, but I’d like to think that Vigil’s trying to help her, even if it doesn’t come across that way. This isn’t meant to be shippy, but I suppose it could be seen like that.

The scariest feeling is no longer that which falls over his mind when he’s alone. It’s the fact that Vigil now has someone to watch over – to protect. And that’s terrifying in the same way how you can only disappoint someone who has expectations for you. Now, if only Dokkaebi would realize that and pull her shit together.

He looks at the log book of those who enter and leave the shooting range. She’s in there now, but her name is nowhere on the sheet. If she made a mistake, no matter how small, she’d get sent back and punished, no doubt. Six and Harry couldn’t know. But who else… There was Thatcher, who didn’t agree with her way of using technology, but he was old enough and had enough experience to know what to do.

So, he goes and reports her. Files a complaint to Thatcher. Ash would just rip it up and ask too many questions, so he does his best to keep his face neutral as Thatcher scrutinizes him.

“Vigil… I don’t know what you want me to do here. You can’t possibly expect me to get rid of her off of this, right? I know I don’t get along with her either, but I cannot suspend someone based off of something that _I _don’t even remember to do.”

“I don’t want you to get her in trouble…” Vigil trailed off. “Just scare her.”

“Why?” That’s a fair question, and definitely something he should’ve thought about before coming to find the oldest man on base. Thatcher’s posture was tense, like he was prepared to jump up and defend the woman he refused to talk to outside of training.

And really, what could he say? _Well, sir, if she gets sent back, she’ll face hell for the rest of her life, so I want to teach her some responsibility and caution so she can stay here._

Like he would believe him. Vigil didn’t even believe himself. “I feel like she’s disrupting authority here, and I want you to talk some sense into—”

“Believe me when I say that I’ve tried. That woman…” Thatcher sighs to cut himself off. “But let me ask another question. Why do you care? This has nothing to do with your career, or your job, or…”

Vigil shrugged. He doesn’t know either. Well, yes, he actually does have an idea… it’s just that…

“Nothing said in this office will be repeated outside, I can assure you that,” Thatcher tries to comfort him.

“Everyone should be allowed to express themselves in their own way. Even if I don’t agree, they deserve the freedom of choice.” He swallows before continuing. “I don’t want to see her punished for a right I think we should all have.”

There’s a silence where Vigil is sure that Thatcher is going to kick him out of his office, but it’s all quelled one the British man smiles. “Alright. But don’t blame me if this just makes her even angrier.”

“That’s fine.”

.

The next day, he’s woken up by an angry pounding at the door, echoing the one in his head. It’s an hour earlier than his alarm or… no… it was still nighttime. He unlocks the door and is immediately pushed back as Dokkaebi storms in.

“You told on me for not putting my name in the log book? Asshole, Thatcher called me in and chewed me off for forgetting something apparently so simple when half the ops have forgotten at least once.”

“And how do you know it was me,” his voice is gravelly from just waking up, and he briefly wonders if it’s past curfew yet.

“I don’t need Thatcher to tell me, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she snarls. “I don’t understand… What are you here for? To spy? To make me feel like I shouldn’t be here?”

“Of course not,” he mutters and moves to close the door, only to scowl when she jams her foot out to stop him. “I need to sleep.”

“And I need to know why you’re acting like this. I do my job, I train non-stop, and I’m making friends. Why are you so set out to ruin this for me?”

“I’m not. You should just pay more attention to yourself. You know they can send us back for anything, really.”

“You’re worried about me getting sent back?” Her voice has softened, just the slightest. “Then tell me instead of going straight to our bosses to report me.”

“You’d never listen.” And this time, he does manage to close and lock the door again.

He just has to ignore the phone call, and then falls back to sleep again. Perhaps now that Thatcher knows, he can help him keep Grace in check.

**(Warnings: None really, broken hearts?)**

**16 Broken Hearts Club**

A/N: Based off of a song by gnash. Bandit and Doc are going through some lonely thoughts and sad feelings. Just another Friday night.

“I need amnesia for my brain, an umbrella for the rain, a numbing for my memories, and a drink.”

Doc isn’t sure how to deal with Bandit at this moment. He’s very… hm. He would call the German poetic, but really, now was not the time.

“Why aren’t you out with all the others?”

“_He’s_ with them. And I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. He barely goes out enough as it is.”

Ah.

And it’s not like Doc is in a different frame of mind either. He had gone through, what, his third break up of the year? Apparently being absent for weeks at a time, coupled with the stressful job of being a medic didn’t make for the best relationship.

“Well, welcome to the broken-hearts club where we hate everything about the people we used to love. It appears as though all members are here, though, so welcome.”

And the weirdly timed sarcasm from the medic brought a smile to both their faces.

“And what benefits do you offer in this club.”

“Well, misery likes company, and we lonely few can make other lonely people feel less… lonely.”

“Sounds good.” And Bandit chuckles. No smirk, no tight smile, an honest to god laugh and smile. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Doc reached down to the hidden section of his desk. “Well, everyone hates it here in the club, but it’s easier than trying again. So?” He offers bandit a wine glass, and even though he prefers whiskey to wine, he’ll gladly take it.

Maybe Doc _won’t _have to prescribe him new sleeping pills tonight.

**(Warnings: mentions/implies death, implies dementia, injury, fighting, gun fights, canon typical violence, mentions mass violence (Bartlett))**

**17 Thatcher and… ?**

A/N: a continuation of that other Thatcher fic. This is both the before and aftermath of htat fic, and it was based off of and includes the lyrics of You by Keaton Henson. I looove that song and it’s been a hit on my sad playlist.

_If you must wait…_

A quick mission. That was all. After a training accident, he was taken off the roster and sent back home to recover. So, Thatcher sat on the couch with his mother’s arms around him as he awaited news. His best friend, brother in arms, was on that squad. They were unbeatable together.

Unbeatable is a strange word, no? It was supposed to mean victorious, impossible to defeat. The image of his friend at the end of the mission with a new medal and a new smile that just said that it went alright. That’s who they were… together. And Thatcher saw what the issue was now. He wasn’t there to prevent his friend from getting shot in the leg, leaving him stranded in enemy territory as his squad was massacred.

Unbeatable.

Yet that very man was still in that casket, arms on his chest, and eyes closed, draped in a flag.

_… wait for them here in my arms as I shake._

_._

_If you must weep…_

The ocean was known for many things. Thatcher sipped on his beer as he rocked with the waves. After the mission, he wasn’t the same. His mother passed, his father didn’t recognize him, and more recently, his wife had left him, saying that she couldn’t take it anymore.

Take what? Surely it must’ve been the money issue. Maybe a personality clash. But it couldn’t have been because of… what did she call it? It couldn’t have been because he was “obsessed.” It was a job – one he took seriously. That was all. He wasn’t obsessed with it, but he couldn’t stop certain flashbacks, certain triggers, certain emotions that refused to leave him alone when he slept at night.

That was all… But that couldn’t be helped.

Right? There was no other option – no other choice for him in his life. He took the chance to leave his home, he took his opportunities; he took what was in front of him like any other human was. And he was human.

_… do it right here in my bed as I sleep._

_._

_If you must mourn, my love…_

He still remembers that day, to this day. He remembers the smoke, the screams, the gunshots, the blood. All of it. It will never leave him, being on par in horror levels with the wars he’s been a part of except those fights were between those who knew why they were there. It was a battle. Not a massacre.

And even though he knows that it went well, that they did all that they could, that only Rainbow could’ve helped, he can’t help but feel a pit in his stomach, one that threatens to – no, _does_ swallow up his thoughts and starts asking what if’s.

What if they cleared faster?

What if they could evacuate earlier?

What if the terrorists were caught before they even entered the US?

What if they could’ve gone into one of the labs and crushed the project before it began?

What if?

And that’s where Sledge found him. Pacing on the roof, and glaring at the stars as though they could’ve prevented it all.

_… mourn with the moon and the stars up above._

_If you must mourn…_

Sledge was a good leader. One that takes his time with all his teammates – not just the weakest – and makes sure that they’re all alright. He is one that understand unity and team cohesion like it was as easy as reciting the alphabet. He knows how to talk and hold a meaningful, helpful conversation like it was as natural as eating or breathing to him.

And know best he does. It’s as clear as the scowl on Thatcher’s face while he’s being dragged to an empty office.

“What’s on yer mind?”

“Nothin’”

“Mike.”

A sigh. “Just a little worried that we’ve seen this before. That’s all.”

_…Don’t do it alone._

_._

_If you must leave…_

The conversation from the night before was not repeated as Thatcher was getting strapped and ready for their next mission. It was not repeated again as he gave his briefing and walked out of the room. And it was definitely not repeated right before the initial attack.

The next thing he remembers is walking into a dark building. Twenty-two kilos of cocaine, ready for sale, and one of those kilos contains a very special message. One crime hidden in another. It was here, in the shadows, where Thatcher could finally forget about his past.

It’s hard to reminisce on the past when your future was in danger.

He has a purpose in life. The same one he’s had since eighteen.

Two shots to the right, and a foot disappeared behind a shelf, though the shadow was still there. That was easy, two steps forward and turn to the right. One shot to end a life.

That was simple. One for one.

Except that the one shot could also mean something else.

There was a spray of gunfire underneath him, and he heard a thud.

“Mute!” Smoke’s voice called out over comms. “He’s down! Under heavy fire, sir!”

From somewhere below, he could hear the sound of one of Smoke’s grenades going off. “In cover! Repeat, Mute is down, and we’re in cover! Requesting immediate back-up… please.”

Without another thought, Thatcher used a breaching charge to jump down a floor and rush in the direction of the fight.

_… leave as though fire burns under your feet._

_._

_If you must speak…_

_Rat-tat-tat_. Thatcher took down terrorist after terrorist. They weren’t expecting a flank, and he was cutting them down like a razor to hair.

“I’m here, Mute.”

The boy didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes were glazed and his mouth slightly open, though no sounds came out.

“His gut, we need an evac.” Smoke tossed his last grenade and set it off to buy them some time.

There are four of them in this one building. Sledge’s shadow was coming up form behind them, the hammer giving him away. Evacuating Mute would be a two-person job. If he were any less confident, there would be no chance, but he actually believes. There’s a chance he can clear the floor and cover their evac on his own.

Take out the last two to the right, and one to the left. EMP the soft wall and breach through. Finish the floor. His was empty above anyways, and Sledge should have finished done down below.

“Go…”

“Mike, that’s also not a…” Sledge finally caught on to what he was suggesting.

“Nah, I’m proud of my team. Cliché and all, but I’ve had plenty of good years in my life, but he’s barely started his. Now get him help, and leave the rest to me.”

_… Speak every word as though it were unique._

_._

_If you must die, sweetheart…_

It’s a long fight. One that sapped all strength from his muscles, that softened his bones, that makes his hands tremble, but it’s a fight he takes. It’s down to Thatcher and one other man now. They see each other, know where the other is, and stare at each other with their hands tightening around their respective weapons.

Two gunshots: one pinging off a box, and the other tasting air, muscle, bone, muscle, air and then the wall behind.

One of them falls.

“Mike? MIKE!”

That voice… was it Smoke? Maybe Mute? No, he was unconscious. Probably Sledge, given that he had issues understanding what came next. Or maybe that was just the darkness calling his name.

What was it that Mark kept quoting at him? You die a hero or live long enough to become the villain? Or something like that?

Legends are always remembered. He just hopes he died fast enough.

_… die knowing that your life was my life’s best part._

_If you must die… remember your life._

There was a soft murmuring that slowly faded into silence. All things pass – even the complete and utter emptiness. Instead of going anywhere, he sits in that dark shell of what he can only assume is his own mind. It’s a welcome rest, and in his mind’s mind, he relives everything. The good, the bad, the really bad, and the atrocities.

There was no sun to tell him how many hours he’s been lying there. Yet in the distance, he swears he could hear his mother’s voice.

_You are… You are… All you are… all._

And with that, he’s had it with this place. Wherever he is.

.

_If you must fight…_

When he comes to, he’s still on the floor, significantly weaker from before, but still alive. There’s a bullet in his vest, maybe a cracked rib or two, but he’s alive. His pistol was still there. That’s nice. He struggled to get to this hands and knees and crawl to cover. There were voices that definitely did not belong to his teammates. Had they gotten out? Or was he fighting a losing battle just to die as a martyr?

With a shaky hand, he measures everything, considers his strength. He might only have one shot. But that’s all he needs.

One shot, and the last body hits the floor. Then, he returns to that dark shell inside of him. There were worse fates.

_… fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night._

_._

_If you must work…_

Medal of honor, yadda yadda yadda. He couldn’t care less.

What mattered more was that he was hooked up to a machine that was listing out a very important number. That, and a friendly face was staring back at him.

“Do you want me to show you this new game I started? It’s super simple, but it’s very fun and simple to play. You’d love it.”

There was a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. And from Sledge and Smoke, who stood a little farther behind the kid, they all had the same look. They admired him, and looked up to him. They’ll tell his stories to the legions of new recruits long after he himself has said goodbye to Hereford.

Isn’t this what you work for? For those who will pass on your morals and give you that piece of mind that you left the world slightly better than when you entered it.

_… work to leave some part of you on this Earth._

_._

_If you must live, darling one…_

“Hey, Mike?”

He jerked his head up and towards the sound of the voice. He must’ve been asleep, seeing as Sledge and Smoke had left, leaving Mute behind.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know… I know you know.”

With that, they shared a chuckle, and Mute gave one last nod before leaving him to fall asleep again.

_… just live._

**(Warnings: Mentions of Death and injuries, hurt with only a little comfort at the end.)**

**18 Rook in Paris**

A/N: My baby boy Rook, how could I do this to him?!?!? But it was fun to write, and based off of Paris by Magic Man. Anyways, enjoy this as a Rook/Mute ship.

Jet lag has put him in a state of unrest and unease. Especially when he looks at Paris. The country’s capital, the city of love… etc. It wasn’t his home, but he had spent a few years here after getting recruited by the GIGN.

“Julien?”

Gustave was on the other end of the phone call, making sure that he had everything ready for his short stay in Paris.

“Oui, uh… sorry, I was just… lost in thought I guess.”

“No problem, but you know the address now?”

“Yes, I have it saved on my phone.” He was getting strange looks from people around him. Which was fair. He was just speaking French to the coffee baristas before.

“Good. Enjoy your vacation then.”

“Thanks.”

With that, he slipped the phone in his pocket and walked towards the hotel he was staying in. It took a little too long to really get back into it. He got a little lost in how… familiar it was to him. It was like he was tracing his steps back to where he was before… except he really hopes not.

Last time he was here, it cost nearly everything that he’s not ready to lose today – no, ever again. He can’t. He wouldn’t be able to do it.

Maybe it’s because of his age, maybe his personality, or maybe even his experiences, but Rook has always held on too much to things in his past. In that bedroom back in Tours, his three teddy bears, notebooks, drawings, and even some clothes were still safely tucked in the drawers. He just couldn’t let go of the past. And it’s really starting to hurt.

It wasn’t even just childhood memories. It was people too. People and memories. It was his first kiss by a park near his home, it was that one date that took him to the top of the Eiffel tower, it was his lover who always smelled like lavender and laughed like rain. It was the pain that stayed with him, finding their body on the streets during a terror attack and sprinting through the alleyways to get help. It was the realization that he was too late.

Ok, so maybe thinking about this in the shower wasn’t going to help him. With a sigh, he got dressed and laid on the bed, far too exhausted, both from the flight and the memories.

The next morning, he got up without hitting the snooze button, and dressed. He was the one who set the date and time, after all, so he couldn’t be late. He checked his messages again… still no response. Not that he was expecting one. Perhaps Mute would be ok if he was a couple minute late if he brought coffee.

.

Mute was actually the late one. And that was fine. It gave him a little more time alone anyways. With a tight grip around the flowers, he prayed that Mute wouldn’t laugh at them.

It was under a tree. The spot that is. It was under a tree and so he was overlooking the hill. So fucking cliché, yet he couldn’t help but love it.

“I got lavender flowers,” he said to no one in particular. Then he sniffed them. “I still hate that smell though. I wish you liked something else.”

What _was_ he looking for here? He ran a hand through his hair, keeping it there at his neck as he nodded to unspoken words. There were so many days he couldn’t help but feel guilty and want to go back – to retrace his steps in the grand ol’ city. Maybe if he didn’t take that extra step around the corner, or if he jumped over the stairs instead… nah, there was no use. It’s been a couple years. No one was here to answer. With a sad smile, he balanced the bouquet of lavenders on the gravestone.

“I met a new guy, so I hope you don’t mind. He’s nice, and he does his best to treat me well, and he’s sooo handsome, you’d be jealous. I think I love him. And I think you would approve. It’d just be nice to hear you say it.”

Foot steps approached and he already knew who it was. “Have you been influenced by Grace recently? I didn’t think you were one to hang around a cemetery.”

He smiled back. “I got you coffee, but you’re so late, so it’s cold.”

Mark looked him in the eye and frowned. “Watch me.” And then he downed the cup in one go.

Julien made an impressed sound. “God you’re the worst.”

“But the best for you,” Mark smiled into the empty cup in order to hide the blush. “Anyways, what’s up with you? You seem down, and that’s making me worry.”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” Julien nodded at the hill.

“I don’t buy that shit, but whatever you say. C’est… fuck… Those French lessons were rubbish.”

He couldn’t stop the snort. “Nah, just stand here for a bit with me.”

There was a breeze strong enough rip a few leaves out, and Julien turned to look at the flowers he set on the stone. Hiding his smile, he slipped his hand through Mute’s. “I love you. Let’s take you around town. I’ll show you this cute little café I found on my first day as part of the GIGN. They have the best wine and these adorable little cupcakes…”

The lavenders were still there.

**(Warnings: Major character death, Grief, angst, anger, self-sacrifice, suicide)**

**20 Who Knew?**

A/N I knew there was something messed up w my numbers! There was no such thing as a 19! But this one’s a little sad. The title and first few paragraphs were inspired by Who knew by P!nk, but it doesn’t stay close once the story takes off. This one was interesting to write cause I don’t write a lot of Spetsnaz stories unless explicitly asked. Fun fact, this was gonna be a Jäger fic where he commits suicide after outbreak as a continuation of my previous short about him and barely coming back. A friend of mine gave me the idea of spetz!

If someone had looked at the Russian bear in his drunken, laughter-filled glory and said that he’d be gone in a few years, never mind Kapkan, Tachanka _himself_ would’ve punched them in the mouth. Because Tachanka said that he would be there for forever. Who knew?

If someone had looked at his team leader, who was like – no, _was _family to him, and that someone had told him to count his blessings, Glaz would’ve said that he didn’t need to. Because Tachanka said that he’d be around him for forever. Who knew?

If someone had looked at her companion with a heart filled with duty and eyes with kindness and said that that man would leave, Finka would’ve turned away and called them crazy. Because Tachanka said he’d be there by her side for forever. Who knew?

If someone had looked at Tachanka and said that this fighter, this soldier, this man, would die on his job… Fuze might’ve believed them.

Because that’s how Tachanka wanted to leave.

It was crystal clear now that three of them made fundamentally incorrect assumptions.

There was no piece of pathetic fallacy that could’ve come even a little close to reflecting their moods, and wasn’t that just life. There was no storm to mourn the passing of a friend, only the raindrops from their own eyes. But that’s how he would’ve wanted it anyways. Not a cloud in the sky and the prettiest sunset they had seen a while.

He would’ve loved it.

But at that moment, with blood still on their suits and the empty feeling expressed in those sullen eyes, they couldn’t think of that. That was a thought that was barred from their minds, and instead, they were treated to the horror that was the mission.

“It’s not your fault.”

Kapkan was the first to speak between the remain four of them. “What he did was his… was his own choice.”

Her head shook on its own. No. She couldn’t believe that. In all her career, she had to believe that things could be under her own control. Her life, her brain, her disease, her choices. There was no magical process that decided what the outcomes were. There was always something she could do to prevent certain ends. Because if there wasn’t – if there wasn’t anything she could do about her situation, then, and only then, would she be completely desperate.

Kapkan stayed by her side, until they were called, one-by-one, into Six’s office to discuss the incident.

Two bombs, a simple clear and defusal in two teams. One with Finka and Tachanka, and the other with Kapkan and Fuze with Glaz working as overwatch.

No one saw the trap. No one saw the little land-mine buried under a couple garbage bags that surrounded their ultimate objective. They were _warned_. They were told that the information was crucial, and that there would be desperate measures in place to protect that information.

Her first tears shocked her out of her memories. It was hot and almost burned her freezing skin. She wasn’t in the field. She wasn’t in Doc’s office. She wasn’t in Six’s office. She was in her dorm with the lights off and no one with her. Because he was gone, and no one would ever be there again.

He said he wouldn’t though. He _promised._ But they were also special forces ops with a dangerous job and no certainty. That night, in the newly uncomfortable comforts of a familiar bed with familiar scents, she can’t help but relive the moments over and over again until it felt like she was _there_.

.

Glaz, with his sharp eyes, noted that there seemed to be a large group of terrorists that had gathered to guard one specific room after the first bomb defusal was started by Finka. Kapkan and Fuze had just reached theirs, and Finka was still in the middle of looking through all the wires. The unusual gathering was worrisome though, which prompted Tachanka to give her the order to stay while he investigated the room.

It wasn’t the terrorists that killed him though. That would’ve been too merciful.

“What is it?” Fuze asked, concern clearly in his voice – a deviance from his normal tone of voice.

There was heavy breathing in their comms. She zipped up the containment bag that now held a bomb, and looked up at the approaching footsteps. Kapkan was with her, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. “I’m done here, let’s go meet him,” she spoke softly, anticipating their leader to answer the question.

“I think I stepped on a mine.”

Not a single tremble in his voice. Not even when Fuze rushed to help him out. The room wasn’t quite a room, more of a growing field under a few hot lamps. Tachanka was off to the side of the field, perfectly frozen in front of the large server racks he was going to investigate.

“Careful,” Tachanka warned. Like he was the one who was safe.

Fuze froze as he evaluated the scene. “Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”

Tachanka shook his head slightly, but Fuze still took his first steps, only stepping in the places that had been stepped in before.

“I’m going to remove some of the dirt around it to get a better look.”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re not in the proper equipment and you’re getting too close.”

“No. No… Just stay still. Don’t take off weight.”

Finka remembered what it was like staring right into Tachanka’s eyes. They were scared. Just the other night, they were alone and talking about their lives over a bottle under the stars. There were no stars here, though. And whatever he was feeling that night was definitely not there at the scene.

After a few moments of shifting the dirt around, Fuze seemed to find what he was looking for on the mine and shook his head. “They glued down the pin. I can’t re-pin it.” He then shifted the dirt back to where it was before.

“Fuze,” the man looked right at her, “there has to be something you can do.”

He stood up and looked Tachanka in the eye. “We could try a weight transfer using water. This is a grow house, yes? That means they have to have water coming from somewhere. We need water and a shield.”

“No. I’ve seen these before. A weight transfer won’t work.”

“We won’t know until we try.” Finka turned away and tried to find something that could resemble a hose.

Fuze walked off to find his shield, and Kapkan joined her on the hunt for water.

“Glaz, anything new?” Finka demanded.

“Nothing to report.”

He sounded grim. He was just as scared as the rest of them.

“I am still the team leader, and I am ordering you all to leave me here. Take what we came for and leave.”

Kapkan shook his head. “Not possible.”

“One leg spasm, one twitch, or one mistake and we die doing this,” Fuze reminded tham all. “Now, I’m not saying that we—”

“We can’t just leave him,” she snarled.

Fuze reappeared with a shield. “I wasn’t planning on it. Just making sure you all knew the risks.”

While holding her breath, she watched Fuze place the shield near the edge of the field and do a final check on it.

“I have a water source, but I think I’m gonna need a hand.”

Fuze nodded and walked past. “I know what to do then. Finka, keep an eye on him.”

They both knew that was code. Tachanka would never take his foot off if someone was still in the room with him.

“You should all run while you still can.”

“I can’t leave you.”

His eyes crinkled, but he couldn’t raise his gaze to look at her. “That’s not a choice you get to make.”

She turned her back to step outside the room to check and see if she could still see what Fuze was doing.

And that’s when it happened.

A war cry. A slow turn to reveal a White Mask running at her, knife in hand. A look of shock on surprize on Tachanka. A look of resignation. An explosion.

“NOOO!”

She collapsed and stared as the remaining bits of dirt landed around where her friend used to be. Everything after was a blur.

“Finka?”

“What happened?”

“Where is he?”

“We need to leave.”

“Get her out. Our mission is over.”

.

The next morning, she cried her last tears at the funeral.

They were the last because she realized three essential facts.

One. That was the best possible ending in Tachanka’s mind. He saw himself as doomed to die, and now could only watch as his friends and teammates were about to attempt suicide to rescue him. By doing what he did, he refused the vulnerable state he was forced into and took out the last remaining terrorist while protecting her. He died a hero. And that’s what he wanted.

Two. That was a desperate move. The terrorists were leaving, and they were using any and all measures they could to hide that information. She wanted it. That could lead her to more cells, and, eventually, the bastard that laid the trap.

Three. That mine was an old Russian prototype. Fuze recognized it, but said that it should’ve been above anything the terrorists could get their hands on if their current equipment was anything to go by. There was a new player in this game that was enabling all this violence, and that was her new target.

If someone had told her, right when she joined Rainbow, that this would one day happen, she wouldn’t believe them. But it happened. He said it wouldn’t, and that he’d be around for forever, but she knew otherwise now, which meant that she couldn’t just sit here and cry. There was work to be done and a life to avenge.

Who knew?

**Author's Note:**

> Want to read more/want to read about my dumb mistakes while gaming? Come over and say hi on tumblr @lacklusterswirl :)


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